Macy Beckett - Make You Mine

“Fine, but don’t shock him again. That was unnecessary.”

Dev giggle-snorted. “But fun.”

“You’re such a sadist.”

“No worries, little sister. At this point, we want to encourage him, not drive him away.”

Though Allie didn’t say so, her faith in the plan was beginning to waver. She would continue to play along because it was her only hope, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that deceiving Marc was the wrong way to change him.

“Get ready,” Devyn said. “He’s here!”

After avoiding Marc for so long, that first glimpse of him was like a taste of chocolate after Lent—so satisfying that Allie wanted to weep.

Sun-kissed golden brown waves brushed his broad shoulders, showcased beneath a faded blue T-shirt that was sexier on him than a tux on any Hollywood actor. A pair of worn jeans hung low on his hips, and when he removed his sunglasses and locked those dark eyes on her, she couldn’t have held back her answering smile if she’d wanted to.

As he pushed open the door, Allie saw her excitement mirrored in his face in the way he gazed at her all soft and warm, with a grin that said she was the only woman in his world. Clearly, he’d missed her, and that validation lifted her spirits.

She only hated what she had to do next.

Shifting her focus to a point behind Marc’s head, she wiped all traces of emotion from her face, relaxing her shoulders and dropping both arms to her sides.

Mingled pain and disappointment widened his eyes, but she maintained her vacant expression and refused to indulge in tears. This step was too important to the plan, and thus, their future.

This is for the best, she reminded herself. Tough love, and all that.

“Allie?” Swallowing hard, Marc approached the counter and peered at her from above the glass bakery display. “Are you with me, hon?”

She remained silent, and through her peripheral vision noticed Dev tipping her head to study her. Dev snapped her fingers in front of Allie’s face.

“Hey,” Devyn said. “Wake up.” When her repeated efforts failed, she gripped one hip and asked Marc, “See what I mean?”

Allie began chanting under her breath, and as intended, it didn’t escape Marc’s notice. “What’s she saying?” he asked Devyn.

Dev bent an ear to Allie’s mouth. “Sounds like pickled dove.”

“Pickled dove?” he asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No, wait.” Dev pretended to listen again. “Scratch that. I think she’s saying fickle love.”

Marc huffed a breath and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “It’s the same line from Juliette’s curse.”

“Makes sense,” Dev said. “That old magic is keeping you away from Allie so you can’t hurt her like your great-great-granddaddy did to Memère.”

“But I don’t want to hurt Allie.” Marc’s gaze traveled over the chalkboard of bakery specials while he scratched the back of his head in contemplation. “Don’t you have some gris-gris lying around?” he asked. “Something we can tie around her neck to break the trance?”

“It’s not that simple,” Dev said. “Jinx removal isn’t one-size-fits-all. I need a broken chain and ingredients specific to our memère, like—”

“Dirt from her tomb?” Marc interrupted. “Allie keeps some in her backpack.”

Devyn spent the next several minutes assembling a gris-gris bag with Marc’s help using, among other things, a broken silver anklet from Allie’s jewelry box. When the bag was ready, Devyn tied it around Allie’s neck and stuffed it down the front of her shirt so it lay directly against her skin.

“There.” Dev patted the lump beneath Allie’s shirt, then linked their hands and chanted a prayer in Creole. She stepped back and joined Marc in waiting for a reaction.

“Purest faith will set you free,” was all Allie said. Come on, Marc. Show some faith.

He scrubbed his face with one hand and groaned in frustration. “What now?”

Devyn shrugged. “I’m not as talented as Memère was. Maybe we should wait and see what the mambo says.”

Marc closed the distance and took Allie’s cheeks between his palms, bringing with him the scents of sunshine and soap. She hoped he couldn’t see the pulse pounding at the base of her throat.

“Allie,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes.

When she didn’t respond, he lowered his mouth to hers and nearly ruined everything. The soft brush of his lips made her breath hitch, a reaction he must have noticed, because he pulled back in surprise. Then he did something that caught Allie completely off guard.

Leaning into her midsection, he tossed her over one shoulder and pushed open the door to the storage room. Her eyes flew wide as her hair tumbled toward the floor and all the blood rushed to her head.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Devyn called.

“We tried it your way,” Marc said as he hauled Allie into the back room. “Now it’s my turn.”

Allie’s head throbbed in the awkward upside-down position as Marc carried her past the storage room and up the stairs to her apartment. This wasn’t the reaction she’d wanted from him.

She’d hoped Marc would demonstrate his faith by proclaiming his love, maybe asking for a long-term commitment or a weekend away, not by slinging her over his shoulder like an industrial-sized sack of flour. What was his strategy here? To lock her inside the bedroom until she snapped out of it?

As it turned out, she had the bedroom part right, but he had no intention of locking her inside without him.

He slammed the door behind them, and the next thing Allie knew, she was standing with her back to the wall, both wrists pinned above her head while Marc pressed his body against her. With his free hand he tipped her chin. Allie barely had time to gulp a breath before his mouth slanted hard against hers and turned her knees to pudding.

She kept her lips immobile, but Marc tasted of sweet cola and lust, his lithe hips pushing her into the wall and electrifying every cell in her body. Holding back was nearly more than she could bear.

“Come on, Allie,” he whispered into her mouth. “Wake up for me.”

She dug her thumbnails into her palms and gave him nothing.

He refused to accept defeat, taking her bottom lip and sucking it gently while stroking her cheek with his thumb. Lord help her, he felt so good—a cool drink of water after a week’s drought. The blissful assault went on and on, weakening her defenses with each tender touch. She was only able to resist until their tongues met; then she folded like a cheap suit.

She’d missed him too much to pretend otherwise.

She closed her eyes and leaned into his kiss, opening to him with a sigh that betrayed the depth of her need. At her reaction, Marc made a male noise of contentment and lightened his touch, teased her with the tip of his tongue without allowing her to catch him. He brushed his lips back and forth against hers and whispered, “You’re back.”

Silently, she strained against the hold on her wrists so she could run her palms all over him, but instead of releasing her, he tightened his grip.

“I’m glad.” He moved to her ear and took her lobe between his teeth, then kissed a trail down to the base of her shoulder. “I missed you.”

While she struggled with whether or not to admit the same, Marc captured her breast in his palm and wiped her mind clean. He thumbed her nipple in lazy circles, bringing it to a hard point beneath her bra.

“Did you miss me, too?” he asked.

She answered with a gasp, and he bent low to gently bite her through the thin cotton shirt separating them.

“Did you?” he asked against her breast. When she didn’t respond, he wedged a muscular thigh between her legs and pushed against her in just the right spot. A jolt of pleasure tore through her. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” she whispered, gazing at him from beneath heavy lids. “I missed you, Marc.” More than you can imagine.

He pulled back his thigh and replaced it with his hand, then slipped it beneath the hem of her skirt. Without missing a beat, he cupped the dampened fabric of her panties and massaged her there.

“How much?” he asked.

It was all she could do to contain a moan. She arched against his palm for more pressure, but he halted his movements.

“I said how much?”

“A . . . a lot.”

He chuckled quietly to himself while teasing her with a brush of his knuckles. “Did you mean that, or was it a confession under duress?”

“I meant every word,” she said, tugging at her bound wrists. “Let go of me and I’ll prove it.”

“Uhn-uh.” He pressed closer until she was trapped between two walls—one of plaster, the other of solid muscle. His thumb slipped beneath the bottom of her panties, and he started petting her, making her slick and swollen with desire. “Let me take the wheel.”

Allie’s legs trembled. She would have collapsed if Marc wasn’t holding her in place. She quit struggling and surrendered to his control, allowed herself to savor the decadent play of his fingers, the graze of his teeth against her neck, the sinful whisper of breath in her ear. The minutes passed in delicious agony as he stroked her with masterful skill. Marc’s dominance topped her most erotic fantasies, his devotion to her pleasure drawing a series of wild moans from her throat.

She closed her eyes and let him have his way with her, but just as her muscles coiled for release, a knock sounded on the bedroom door. Marc flinched and withdrew his hand, nearly sending Allie into hysterics.

“Allie?” Dev shouted from the hall. “Everything okay in there?”